


Music

by meyghasa



Category: Mystic Messenger (Video Game)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-28
Updated: 2017-09-28
Packaged: 2019-01-06 15:47:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12213936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meyghasa/pseuds/meyghasa
Summary: His fingers itch to play.  It’s one of the few pleasures he has aside from hacking.  It’s one of the few things, the very few things, that he can honestly believe he’s good at.





	Music

**Author's Note:**

> This was written with [Ray's theme](https://youtu.be/FiC0_1Vqg64) in mind. I highly suggest listening to it while reading.

His head hurts.

He’s not due for another elixir until tomorrow, but the headache is excruciating. Teetering on the edge of his consciousness he can feel Him, Other Him, taunting. 

_Hey marshmallow, you should let me out to play. I want to play with your girl. I think she would like me, don’t you?_

It’s the one thing Other Him could say to steel Ray’s resolve. He has something to protect, now. Some _one_ to protect. And he will do anything to keep her safe, even from himself. 

He wants to talk to her. The feeling is desperate, deep inside himself. Biting his lip, he thumbs over the screen of his phone, hesitates. What if she finds him troublesome? The savior warned him to keep a respectable distance, and Ray trusts the savior implicitly. Still, his eyes burn from hours staring at a computer monitor, and his head hurts from keeping Other Him at bay, and his heart is full of longing. Maybe he could go to her room. Maybe they could take another walk through the beautiful garden, lit with pale shadows from the almost full moon. His thumb hovers over the call button with indecision. At last, he puts the phone down on his bedside table. He doesn’t want to bother her. What if she has had enough of him and decides to leave? He would never be able to bear it. Better to deal with this longing on his own than to take such a weighty risk.

Pressing a hand to his temple, he walks to the French doors leading to his balcony and swings them open. The fresh scent of flowers wafts into his room from the garden below. Memories of her smile flood his mind and he smiles for the first time since he spoke to her on the phone hours ago. 

His fingers itch to play. It’s one of the few pleasures he has aside from hacking. It’s one of the few things, the very few things, that he can honestly believe he’s good at. He started years ago, when he first met Rika and V. The savior encouraged him, as long as he spent an equal amount of time learning the fine art of hacking. It calms him, brings peace to a mind so often spent in turmoil. 

He walks to his bed and leans down, retrieving the violin case from its spot under it. With utmost care, he places the case on his bed and flips the clasps, opening the case to revealing the shining wood violin within. He unhooks the bow from its place on top of the case and pulls out a small resin block. It is a mindless undertaking but he does it with the mindfulness that he applies to all of his tasks, rubbing the resin block back and forth across the bowstrings until they shine in the pale light of his room. Replacing the resin block in its small holder, he turns his attention to the violin, lifting it out of the case as if he was handling a statue of glass. 

Violin and bow in hand, he returns to the doors. He knows he should close them to avoid disturbing any of the other Believers, but there is a vision in his head that he can’t deny. He lifts the violin to his chin, places the bow against the strings, and starts to play.

It starts slow as he warms up. He runs through a few bars of a song he learned years ago, fingers warming with practice, and a soft smile crosses his lips. There is another song brewing in him now. It is her song, he knows it is. Pausing for only a moment, he begins to again slide the bow across the strings until a beautiful, heart-wrenching melody pours from the instrument. His eyes slip shut as he loses himself in the music. 

In his mind’s eye, she is there. In the room in which she is sequestered, on the floor she is forbidden to leave, a set of French doors identical to his stand looking out at one of the lower gardens. He sees her there, the doors swung wide so she can lean on the metal balcony railing, chin propped on one hand as she listens to the music echo around her. He can see her smile, small and appreciative, as she soaks in his music. He can feel the love pouring from her heart, twisting around the music, coming back to him to warm the spot in his chest. Her hair tickles her cheeks in the soft breeze before she tucks it behind her ears. Every part of her is magnificent, spell-binding, from the soft glint of her eyes to the delicate pout of her mouth. He can see every inch of her in his memory, and her appreciation of the music he creates fills him up with love and longing. 

A few more sweeps of the bow and he is done, dropping the violin from its position beneath his chin. He breathes deeply, smelling flowers, and opens his eyes. His gaze sweeps over the garden and the windows beyond, looking for her, but knowing that he can’t see her room from his vantage point. It pains him. Should he have put her elsewhere, somewhere he could watch? But now it is too late to move her, and he must be content with where she is. 

The need to talk to her is overwhelming. Would she like it if he played the violin for her? Could he play it over the phone? He worries his lip between his teeth, thinking. 

Even if she doesn’t want to hear him play, he longs for her voice in his ear. Placing the violin on the bed, he picks up his phone. This time there is no hesitation as he opens the messenger app and presses send.

_Hey. I was missing the sound of your voice…_


End file.
